


A Meeting of Apostles

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blackrom, F/M, Strife - Freeform, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unhinged by her traumatic ascension, Rose Lalonde comes to a caliginous understanding with the Goat of English.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Meeting of Apostles

The deeper into Paradox Space one journeys, the less relevance concepts like 'time' and 'distance' have on any given thing you might experience. At the heart of it all is the Green Sun, which had only just been born, and now already existed in every frame of reference. If this does not make sense to you, then you have no right to interject into a discussion of the metaphysical a-laws of conceptual reality-states. None of that actually makes sense, but it leaves an outline of a notion in a way that doesn't require a PHD in fields that engineers tell jokes about at the pub.

That is beside the point. What is at the heart of the point is that, even though Rose Lalonde understands Paradox Space perfectly (one wouldn't thing such things necessary background knowledge when explaining the morality of Things Which Lurk Beyond The Stars, but to think otherwise now seems rather silly in hindsight), knowing something can only go so far against how the body physically interprets the sensations it experiences. The point itself is that, despite 'time' having no meaningless, from her inescapable frame of reference it took Rose Lalonde three days to emerge from the heart of the chrononuclear star.

Three days’ worth of memories of sensations now sit snugly is Rose Lalonde's warped little head. Three days is a funny amount of time.

For the first day, Rose exaltedly explored all her self-destructive urges. To be purged and purified and penetrated by that green fire again and again was like self-loathing heaven. She could finally feel with her body how much she hated herself, and how much she deserved to suffer for what an inescapably horrible person she was.

For the second day, Rose was forced to explore that flash of realization that sparked across her brow in the last few moments of The Tumor's countdown. For a full day Rose screamed and begged inside her burning body that she didn't want to die, that she was just a stupid teenager with delusions of suicide and paranoia. She cried out to any god, demon, or monster that could hear her to come, come and take her away from this horrible pain that never ended.

For the third day, a grotesque conclusion was reached. The pain would never end. Her Godhood would not allow her to die, and the Green Sun's bloated mass would not allow her to escape. She was beyond time, beyond contact, beyond help. This was going to be the rest of her life, and the rest stretched out of sight into eternity. This conclusion sent Rose just a bit peculiar.

When the third day ends, Rose emerges from the surface of The Green Sun. It is a good day, she decides. She is out of the Green Sun. That is a good thing. People smile at good things, do they not?

Rose smiles at Dave. Sluices of green energy wash off his red Godhood. He is smiling too. Rose wonders how their three day exodus was for him. Perhaps, with his dominion of time, the journey passed much more quickly for him? In this place where time and space are congruous, perhaps it was her ectobrother who lifted them from the sun's core.

When the third day ends, Rose emerges from the surface of the Green Sun. It is a good day, she decides. She is a God. People smile at good things, do they not?

She does not see Dave beside her. Her Godhood obscures her conventional sight. However, in its place is a hurricane of visions, knowledge derived from doomed timelines that will never know fruition, yet still aid her with their experiences. Everything that can happen has already occurred in countless offshoots, and those are now freely available to her perusal. Their numbers are infinite, but the more probable occurrences appear again and again, overlapping to form a clearer idea of which events are most likely to occur in given circumstances. For instance, in almost all the timelines where she and Dave emerge from the Green Sun, two trolls greet them shortly. They introduce themselves in some, in a handful they even attack.

Hello, Aradia, Sollux

The two floating trolls fade into view. They not so much appeared as their mutual timeframes aligned with the two kids around the frame of reference of the sun's surface.

sup?

The ever impassive Strider gives a curt nod.

i am so glad to finally meet you!! the rest of our friends will be joining us soon so lets wait just a bit until they get here

what ab0ut jack? isn't he here to0?

The Sovereign Slayer has, for the first time since his ascension, found himself indisposed.

Visions of a white warrior, invigorated with righteous fury, swirl about in Rose's mind. There is little chance he will find the time to track them down.

 

There is a yellow glint in the distance. A makeshift flagship stampedes towards their location, propelled by psychic power. The one-sighted Gemini troll observes its arrival with dispassionate curiosity.

The meteor arrives. Three gods and a half-ghost descend upon the viewing platform of the base.

so this is the troll base?

The base dwellers are waiting for them on the platform. An odd scene plays out.  
Sollux dies in the arms of his own self.  
Terezi tries to steal Dave's glasses, which provokes Karkat to start an argument with the Strider.  
Kanaya, who now glows like a reliable light source, approaches Rose, and with hesitant reservation starts to explain what happened since they last spoke.  
Rose politely cuts her off. The Seer's metaphysical attention is drawn to the quiet troll standing in the shadows. His face is painted in the visage of his messiah and marred with wounds, self-inflicted as though trying to break his own head open. Countless timelines collapse upon him. Murder and massacre and more than a little light torture. Of all the ways the trolls might have failed, he made up more than half of them. A proud man enslaved to his society's systems is made to smile at the foot of his arbitrary better. A catgirl is brutally beaten, and sometimes she doesn't even die at first. A best friend is split in half and the Capricorn nearly loses himself in joy at the color of his blood. The essences of twelve are painted into a book that gives life to his Lord and Master. Like a dark ringmaster he conducted his friends deaths again and again and again, yet always remained the puppet of a puppet's puppet, the mad dog of an evil god.

It is quite alright Kanaya. I have already seen what happened.

 

The meteor arrives. Three gods and a half-ghost descend upon the viewing platform of the base. An odd scene plays out.

Rose forces herself out of her metaphysical ruminations. It seems that she can have visions of the visions she sees in the offshoots of paradox space. If she's not careful, she could easily lose herself in the fractal labyrinths of realities.

It is quite alright Kanaya. I have already seen what happened.

 

The others exchange information and discuss the next stage of the plan, getting back into the now scratched universe where John and Jade should be waiting for them. After looking through how the conversation will probably play out, Rose gives them what they need to hear and then slips out into the base.

Her footfalls are muffled by the divine fabric of her dainty blue shoes. The air inside the base is thick with sweat and fear and death. Something crashes into a pipe somewhere.

hey there little lady

Something is broken. Steam hisses out from a broken valve.

ARE YOU MOTHERFUCKING LOST?

Something metal is kicked against a wall, and then falls to the ground with a rattle.

or are you here to join me

With the practiced ease of someone who has already explored the base a thousand times over, Rose seeks out a certain transportalizer. She flips open the control panel

IN THIS DARK CARNIVAL'S SECRET SPECIAL MOTHER FUCKING-

Rose holds down one button and presses a second. The transportalizer hums to life, and sends her twisting through space. She finds herself in the middle of a foyer room, reminiscent of a vaguely fourteenth century European inn. 

corpse part- whoa, you actually found the place.

The Capricorn troll turns from the half-open air vent and rests his arm upon the mock inn counter. The vent grate falls back into place, camouflaged against the imitation wood door. Arranged on the floor around Rose are the headless corpses of six trolls. Blood seeps from their necks, and from the torso wounds all by one of them sport. Their heads have been mounted on the walls, painting the stone a bloody half-rainbow.

Hello Mister Makara. Perhaps if you weren't so vain, you would not be so obvious as to hide in your trophy room, although I hesitate to call these trophies. After only, you only, what's that silly troll word? Ah yes, you only 'subjuggalated' two of them yourself.

MOTHERFUCKING BITCH

you're a wordy little lady alright

WHY NOT SING A MOTHERFUCKING SONG FOR ME, CANDY BIRD?

I assure you Mister Makara, I am here on business. My earlier death shook me from my stubborn throes, but I am still an agent of the Noble Circle. In that capacity, I come to the Disciple of Lord English, in order to open negotiations.

diplomacy? 

THAT'S MORE THE MOTHERFUCKING RAINBOW DRINKER'S AREA 

but I'm down for a rap.

Very well. First order of business, we know it is one of your number that has been enacting the wholesale slaughter of our kind. Have him stop.

NO

The bard bellows, a twisted, rising shout that is as much a laugh as a roar.

Then consider him forfeit.

if the mad genocider can't keep himself safe

Gamzee flickers, and vanishes from behind the counter. With barely trackable speed, he moves to on top of the bookshelf beside him.

FUCK HIM!

Rose crosses her arms. The clown's loyalties are borderline nonsensical.

if the big, sad, fishies can't protect themselves

He steps off the shelf, and appears right behind Rose, his lips pressed against her ear.

FUCK THEM.

Rose clenches her fist. Up close, the Capricorn reeks of sugar and blood and sex. Visions of his treatment of the large-horned head on the wall fill her mind. Brown and purple smears mix around the head's lips and neck. His name had been Tavros.

Disciple of English, we demand your Lord cease his gross perversions of our design. By scratching, we seek to maintain the equilibrium of reality. Your gluttonous summonings are hurtling all that is and is not towards irrevocable entropy that not even he can escape.

if you think the Mirthful Messiahs will bow to the will of anybody

He appears in front of her, close enough that she can feel his hot, sugary breath on her face. He places his hands around her neck, and she can see the full-bodied spectrum of blood that drips from his fingers. He presses his face right up against hers, and she can see the rainbow roulette of Lord English's influence flashing behind his eyes. Thousands of years of both subtle and heavy handed manipulation of Troll history unfolds behind him, culminating in this single troll, tailored as physically and mentally as possible towards serving Lord English's every whim and edict.

FUCK. YOU.

He clenches his fists. As Rose's neck was never removed from their grasp, the unfortunate bone structure collapses. His arms, thanks to game abstractions and unlimiting madness, contain so much more power than their lanky form would suggest. There goes her trachea, esophagus, and all manner of nominally important neck bits. Compared to the Green Sun, it hardly tickles. Compared to the Green Sun, it almost feels...good. He slowly peels his hands from her neck. She doesn't cry, or gasp, or flail. She simply falls to her knees, and succumbs to her death. Gamzee watches her fall with bored disappointment.

A few seconds pass, and kaleidoscopic tendrils of smoke and shadow billow out from her corpse. They flicker black between each flash of colour. They gather themselves beneath her arms and legs and lift her to her feet.

Of course you realise, Mister Makara, this means war.

Rose ducks. An arrow is driven into the far wall behind her. The bard never drew his bow, that arrow was flung by hand. She throws up a magical barrier of alien thorns. A chainsaw screeches to life and starts tearing through them. She darts back, but the Capricorn is quicker than she is, God Tier or no. A ring of keys strikes her cheek, leaving deep cuts that burn like boiling water.

The Miracle Modus and the Jokerkind Specibus, both these machinations operate on principles completely devoid of fortune, and the Miracle Modus is defined by not making sense at all. Visions of all the different things Gamzee might pull out flash past her mind's eye. Just now, she had been sure he would attack with Ahab's Crosshairs, yet he caught her off guard.

Gamzee reaches through the opening the chainsaw made and tears apart her barrier with his bare hands. Purple fluids drip from his fingertips.

please don't throw me in the briar patch, little miss.

He tears out one of the thorny vines and captchalogues it. That seems to fill something up because the long, pitch lash known as Black Inches is ejected, and falls into Gamzee's waiting hand.

I WAS BRED AND BORN IN THE BRIAR PATCH

He holds up the deadly whip and strikes. The tightly woven cords crack against Rose's midsection. Her Godhood took the brunt of the blow, but the burning in her belly still leaves her weak in the knees. Red welts rise up beneath the orange fabric. Before he can attack again Rose fires an eldritch blast at his hand. Pink fires erupt from the base of the whips handle. The Capricorn considers the burning weapon in his hands for a moment before letting it fall to the floor.

those are some sick fi-

Her broodfest-encrusted fist slams into his face. The bones creak and crack from impact. He staggers back. Clouds of black tendrils billow out from Rose's body.

NEED A DOCTOR?

From his Jokerkind Specibus he pulls out a long, white broom. Holding it like a hammer, he swings at her neck faster than the eye can see. The broom is, ultimately, a broom, and breaks against the stardesascendant aura. Gamzee takes a moment to puzzle over the broken broom handle, moment enough for Rose to wrap him in darkloathsome tentacles and hurl him into the counter. The wood splinters from impact, and leaves numerous cuts along the juggalo's body.

I despise you, Mr. Makara

Rose pins the troll to the counter with her aural appendages and walks towards him. She made sure that each tendril's surface bore countless tiny needles, and number of which are now piercing his skin. Gamzee twists and writhes under her grasp, tearing the shirt and skin beneath her hold.

You have all this anger and you just sling it at anything in sight like so much ape defecation. You never even consider trying to be constructive, even though you could do so much.

She stands over him. He glares at her defiantly, and with a mockery of a grin.

don't talk to me about destructive, rose lalonde. 

I'VE SEEN YOU WHOLE LIFE. 

The only things you build are two things. 

WEAPONS OF SARCASTIC AFFECTION, AND WIZARD FUCKING. 

you've seen the miracle of breaking things. 

HOW MOTHERFUCKING GOOD WOULD IT FEEL TO KILL JACK, RIGHT NOW? 

you're just like me

His yelling falls silent when Rose strikes his face with her palm. Her broodfester aura flickers and chitters against his skin. The purple scars across his face split enough, and rich blood seeps across his smeared layers of makeup. She slowly pulls her hand away.

The difference between us, Mister Makara, is you don't care who you get to have your way with. Friends, allies, enemies, I have always acted with my friends best interests in mind.

WHICH MOTHERFUCKING FRIENDS?

He leans forward against the pull of her tendrils, his expression flickering at the pain before settling into a frown.

the wigglers that your heart says only want to hurt you?

THOSE HORROR THE MOTHERFUCK TERRORS THAT CAN'T MOTHERFUCKING STAND THE CREATION OF NEW UNIVERSES?

you know, that thing your wiggler buddies are trying to do?

There is no. conflict. of interests.

She presses her arm into Gamzee's neck and hisses. 

I am perfectly capable of balancing the needs of my friends with my patrons.

MOTHERFUCK, THAT'S A GOOD JOKE.

those squidbiscuits don't negotiate with their filthy cultists.

THEY DO WHAT THE MOTHERFUCK THEY WANT.

just like a good god should.

WHERE'S THE DIFFERENCE, ROSE?

Where's the difference between how we serve out masters?

Before she can reply, Gamzee throws his head against her arms and drags his tongue across her black-painted lips. That seems to have fulfilled some sort of condition because sixteen small balls fall from his sylladex. Rose hurls herself away from the Troll and wraps herself in layers of protection. They could quite literally be anything.

HONK HONK

Sixteen horns, with flashing, technicolour brass bounce along the floor. Rose flinches with surprise.

HONK!

Gamzee appears in the brief moment of distraction, and brings Zillyhoo up into her chest. The blunt force is enough to propel her to the ceiling. Her tendrils cling to the stonework. Her heart pounds in her chest, along with her ribs.

hey there little miss

Rose turns her attention back to the unhinged juggalo on the floor. With casual ease, he points the barrel of the enormous Proton Cannon straight at her.

SMILE FOR ONCE YOU FUCKING BITCH

countless possibilities spew out from the barrel of the overcompensation gun. Others caught in the crossfire, the meteor being life-threateningly compromised, her getting evaporated and Gamzee going off to sate his rekindled bloodlust, her destroying them both, and earning herself a Heroic Death, their conflict continuing to escalate until the Bard resorts, for only the second time, to unleash the power of his domain, the true form of which not even Rose can comprehend. The obscenely huge gun hums to life. No, no, no, none of these outcomes are acceptable, Gamzee you filthy, vile, waste of potential.

A new vision fills her mind, A symbol. A tool that is uses to entrench oneself, to halt the enemies advance. It used to be a sword but is now more akin to a plowshare, but still just as blood-soaked, a sign of fortune, but also of war.

I hate you Gamzee Makara

Something else is triggered, and the deadly Proton Cannon is torn from his hands back into his sylladex. Such is the folly of using Deus Ex Machina as an inventory system. Rose lowers herself from the ceiling. His frown shifts into a slight smirk. He stands his ground.

This is not an insincere statement to take advantage of your joke of a sylladex. I want to tear off your arms so you can never threaten those I care about.

Twitching black tendrils latch onto his wrists and drag him to an arm's length away from her. More wrap around his legs and lift him into the air. Hundreds of thorny black tentacles surround his limbs, and pull him spreadeagle.

i'm going to smear my bulge with your blood and paint your screaming face with it

I want to shove your tongue up your own rectal cavity so I never have to hear you filthy voice again.

She grabs his unwashed hair with her hand and pulls his mouth against hers. Dozens of tiny terrorbad tentacles emerge from her mouth and hold his jaw open. He tries to bite down, but they stop his muscles from moving at all. She pulls his tongue into her mouth and bites down hard enough to be more than uncomfortable. Her mouth is flooded with the taste of half-fermented sugar and still-wet troll blood. Rose isn't sure which she finds more intoxicating.

I want to tear your skull open and consume all the parts of your brain that make you a monster, piece by piece

I'm going to pull out all the flesh sacks that make you a woman, and feed them to you one by one until you beg for more.

He thrashes against his gibbering restraints, and hisses as the thorns let purple blood from his body, which runs in rivulets down the black horrordendrite's aetherform.

I want a lot of things. Unlike you, however, I'm not going to foolishly act on tend.

She drags a nail along one of the open wounds on his face. He chuckles in pain.

What I am going to do is be your own personal Shai'tan. I have emerged from the smokeless fire of the Green Sun, and I am going to oppose you every step of your mortal life.

She reaches down with her hand and drags bloody lines across his stomach with her nails.

Whenever Karkat's back is turned, I will be there to torment you. I will uncover the secret behind every one of your miracles, even Lord English, and force you to comprehend them.

MOTHERFUCKING WHORE!!

Yes, I will blaspheme against your god. I will whisper temptations into your ear that sin against your ancestors. If you ever find a matesprit, I will drive them away

Her hand lunges into his baggy pants and seizes his bulge, already slimy with lubricant. She squeezes it, and relishes the way his wrathful eyes flare with fury.

I will make you hate me. I will make your hate consume you, until every bit of bloodlust you have is too precious to waste on anybody but me.

i will end you

AND EVERY SINGLE BLACK BEAST YOU CALL MASTER

how does it feel to have yourmotherfucking nook fucked never stopped

AGAIN AND AGAIN BY THOSE SQUID SUCKERS?

Coolly, Rose curls her fingers around the elastic of his pants. With one clean jerk, she yanks them down to his knees.

You tell me, Makara.

A tentacle, that had been lying in wait, plunges straight up, and stabs into the exposed troll ass. 'That' makes the Capricorn howl. Just as quickly, it pulls out again.

the last thing you see will be my bulge as is skullfucks your brain

Rose laughs, a callous, condescending laugh that sounds like how her mother does in her dreams. She points to the hood that conceals half her face.

You are far too late for that, Makara. The exclusive position of last thing that these eyes see has already been taken.

Her finger slips down into her mouth as she considers the highblood's state. His body is covered in countless small wounds, his taut muscles are exposed by the tattered remains of his baggy clothing, his eyes smolder with furious urges and his sizable bulge is almost choking on his arousal.

Kneel

Rose commands. Her shadowy tentacles lower him to the ground. The Capricorn sets his feet down and refuses to move.

Bend you knee before the red blooded alien, Gamzee Makara

A tendril whips out and strikes the back of his leg. The limb gives out and he falls to one knee.

I've half a mind to make you perform cunnilingus upon me, Makara, but first I'd have to bash your teeth out with bricks to keep you from getting ideas. I'd much rather you keep yours, but never have the chance to use them. Lie down.

The horrordendrites wrapped around his arms yank down, straining his arms in their sockets and forcing him flat on his back. His erect bulge points straight up, a vulgar reflection of his stubbornness.

Rose steps forward. He tries to strike her with his foot, but a tendril has already moved to catch it. She reaches over and gives his throbbing bulge a not at all gentle squeeze.

Honk honk, Mr. Makara. Let's see what other tunes your horn can play

Rose pulls aside the hem of her divine vestments. Beneath her skirt is a modest blue pair of bloomers, muted to an almost gray by her tumulutous broodfester aura. She points a finger and waves it across her groin. The bloomers are slit open down the middle, and held apart by her grimdexterous shroud. Wispy stark white hairs decorate adorn her pussy, swollen and dripping her juices. A few drops splash down onto the half-stripped troll cultist, running down the length of his already slick bulge.

She uses a swarm of tendrils to carefully align their organs, and drops. Her full weight pushes the Capricorn’s dick deep into her greedy pussy, and mashes her groin against his pelvis. He hisses from the stress on his bones. he opens his mouth to shout more obscenities at her, but she silences him with his torn and bloodied shirt.

Tut. Tut. Mister Makara.

She rolls her hips around his groin, tugging his bulge this way and that. "You are just a filthy fuck puppet. Puppets can't speak. Only a fool cares for what a puppet has to say." rose places her palm on his chest, and rocks back and forth on his bulge. His throbbing dick filled her up more than she'd ever admit. Every inch of her pussy felt the pressure of his pulsing arousal. It felt so good to have his most sensitive place buried deep in the grasp of her body. She wanted to run it to the ground, fuck it hard and raw until he could never so much as think of getting hard again.

Rose slowly raises her hips a few inches, until only the tip of his bulge still inside of her. She lets herself drop, and again slams full force into his pelvis. She bites her lip to keep from crying out. She bites so hard it starts to bleed. She realizes she is also digging her nails right into Gamzee's chest. A wicked notion flits past her mind and makes her grin.

She picks up the pace. She pounds and grinds her cunt against his groin, and with her broodfester aura she picks them both up into the air. As she rides his troll-cock like a mechanical bull it takes all her willpower not to gasp and moan out loud. This is strictly business- Pleasurable business, but the main point is that the business end of the pleasure is deprived of the pleasure end of the business. This took willpower, yes, but not all her concentration. A needle-tipped tentacle presses up against the Capricorn’s plush troll rump. She slams her cunt down again and again, sending his purple lubricant splashing across the carpet and up the inside of her robes. A tiny multi-threaded tendril aggresses against her throbbing clit. Visions of all the different ways her alternate selves finish this flood her thoughts, but her mind was made up already.

I'm going to enjoy making you my bitch.

She pushes down, bottoming out on his slick bulge, and clenches her thighs together as she starts to cum. Her hands furiously scratch at his chest, unconsciously tracing eldritch glyphs of pain, hate, lust and servitude into his skin. The tentacle positioned against his posterior stabs in. It drags across his gray cheeks, and injects the wounds with pink energy as it traces its path. Gamzee bites down on his shirt so hard blood fresh starts seeping through. Rose pulls herself off his bulge, red and throbbing like it might burst. The dainty tentacle between her legs flutters across her pussy as her orgasm rides out. She grasps the Capricorn’s dick in her hand and quickly jerks him to a finish. Gushes of purple genetic material spurt from the tip, and splash across the juggalo's chest and face. The half-bucket of troll cum seeps into his open wounds, and mats his hair against his face.

With her own orgasm's finish, she unceremoniously drops the troll boy to the ground, to spurt the rest of his juices against the carpet and his belly. As she flattens out her crumpled dress, Rose takes a moment to admire the mark left of the troll's grey backside- a cursive 'RL', tattooed into his buttocks in luminescent orchid arcane ink.

Her broodfester throes subside as she walks away.

I'll be going now, Gamzee,

She opens the door at the top of the stairs.

And every time I catch you alone, or you threaten anybody without mine or Karkat's instruction, it will be so much worse than what happened today.

And for decency's sake, do something about those rotten corpses

She slams the door shut. Gamzee can hear every single one of her footsteps, and can visualize the exact position she is in for him to attack. He tries to move his body, but after losing so much fluid, he finds himself unable to move. Sullen, brooding, and dripping with an assortment of his own fluids, he resigns himself to plotting his revenge as he recovers. Oh, he'll do something about the corpses all right. He lets out a small honk-like chuckle. The uppity human girl seems like someone worth hating after all.


End file.
